


Care

by Kaiv



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Top! Dorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiv/pseuds/Kaiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevelyan puts the Inquisition over his own needs. Dorian is not happy about not being on the top of the list and has a way to show it.<br/>(Just a one shot to give these boys a little bit of happiness.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care

**Author's Note:**

> I had to give a try at my writing skills since these two took my heart in a way a pair rarely do. I apologise in advance for any mistakes that can be found.

  
When the Inquisitor marched through the gates towards another scout mission, he looked like the hero people expected him to be: a warrior standing tall on top of a white horse, a beautiful and deadly sword strapped to his back, golden and silver armour glistening under the morning sun. With his voice booming on Skyhold’s courtyard as he laughed and waved to the people around him, Trevelyan truly was the image of the Herald of Andraste and when the light caught in a certain way on his greatsowrd, coating the blade with a seeming unnatural light, he looked almost holy.  That is why when they came back he still had his head high and shoulders straight despite the pain screaming in his muscles and bones. He was aware he didn’t look as good as he left, that his sword was dented and his armour dirt and mossed, but two weeks scouting a desert land while everything around tried to kill you doesn’t serve wonders to one’s look. It was giants, red templars, varghests, dragons and every other abomination in between jumping in their necks and barely giving them enough time to breathe; but at least he kept everyone alive and still seemed as invincible as people needed him to be. He glanced at his companions and felt a pang of guilt crossing his chest as  a side look caught Varric clutching an arm with a wince of pain, an ugly swelling protruding on the left side of the rogue’s face, dried blood staining his beautiful coat, but no one could accuse the trusty dwarf of complaining. When in pain, Varric simply lessened his jokes and kept walking. Cassandra walked as proud and elegant as always, but you could see her favouring her right leg, the way her shield weighted on her back and was clear how she held a protective hand on deep wounds on her side that would later add to her collection of scars. Dried blood still stained Seeker’s face and in other time Varric would joke about her mimicking Hawke’s ‘makeup’ choice, but right now they all were too focused on not collapsing on the ground. Even Solas that usually didn’t get as much of his blood spilled showed discreet signs of the battle he fought just as hard as any of them; the deep dark circles under his eyes, the way blistered hands gripped on a staff that went from weapon to walking aid for trembling legs, which seemed on the verge to fail.

 Stepping off the horse, Trevelyan shot one last look to his team “So, can I call you back in what, half an hour?” He tried to joke lightly even if his attempt to humour felt weak and tired.

  
Varric flashed him a grin and a middle finger up as he dragged himself to the tavern. “Fuck off, mate. You can call me in half an hour if you intend to rub my feet and feed me grapes.” His voice came tired tone, the dwarf wincing at the way his swollen face pulled.

The Inquisitor watched as they all scattered to their chambers and a little bit of envy swirled on his chest, he wished he could just drag himself to bed -or to Dorian’s- and sleep the pain away, but being the Inquisitor meant his well-being was the last thing to worry about. A deep breath and his back was straight again despite a sharp pain  on his  side that probably meant a couple cracked ribs under the heavy armour. In times like this he regretted his choice of armour, which seemed to fit the name ‘Heavy’ more and more as time went by; but he pushed the discomfort aside and made his way to his chores. First, it was master Dennet and his mounts where the Inquisitor got a good scolding for using the horse to stomp on red templars, for which he had the decency to apologise. Then he just stood there and listened as Master Dennet complained about how the dracolisks tried to nibble the horses and that he couldn’t babysit the giant lizards all day, the things surely needed a separate barn if the Inquisition didn’t want a slaughterhouse.  
  
The Horse Master would probably rant on it for a long time but a look at the Inquisitor’s face shut him up. “Your honour, I’m sure we can continue this some other time.”  Dennet was usually so worried about the horses that he barely glanced at people’s faces, but the man in front of him seemed to be standing solely on the force of sheer will.

A ghost of a laugh escaped as Trevelyan looked down at himself with a grimace “That bad?”  the question came with a tired smile that didn’t stay put for too long as a hand threaded on matted hair, armoured fingers grazing over a painful spot on his scalp. “Ouch. Maybe it is.”

“Well, sir, if you didn’t decide to dye your hair red whilst fighting, I’m sure that’s more than the healthy amount of blood on your head, also you look a bit half dead.” Dennet said matter of fact, as if he was just judging another horse.

 Trevelyan couldn’t help but laugh at the light hearted honesty, regretting it the moment it made his abused ribs complain. “Thank you for the honesty, Master. I’ll be sure to look into the dracolisk problem later.”  He made a mental note to talk to Josephine about an additional barn, waved the Horse Master goodbye and marched – or rather limped- to his next task.

A brief stop at a well was the one luxury he indulged himself, only to throw a handful of cold water on his face in hopes of washing a bit of the gore away. Although, from the look of the dirty water that swirled down his hands and onto the floor he would need more than a half empty bucket to look presentable. “Well, they’ll have to handle me looking like death then.” he muttered under his breath and moved towards Cullen’s tower, his muscles aching and his knees threatening to fail at each step. He reached the door after what seemed an eternity and took a minute to breathe -breath in, pain, breath out, different pain- before coming inside and slipping into the military leader he needed to be.  
  
“Commander, sorry, the scout mission took more than expected and we ran into some nasty problems. Is there anything I should know?” It was just routine, there was always a thousand things he needed to know and Cullen was swift in briefing him. The one good thing is that the Commander had the objectivity of the military so it only took almost one hour for his overall view of the inquisition army be up to date. “I’ll have a look on those issues, Commander, on my next-“  He stopped mid-sentence, sucking the air into his teeth as a wrong movement brought a chipped plate digging right into one of his wounds. “I’m fine,” he hissed, holding a hand up as Cullen stepped towards him. “I’m fine, just a battle wound. As I was saying, I’ll make sure to be more detailed on my reports and try to find some time for a speech next week.”

 Trevelyan was trying his best to hide his pain, and, as opposite of Dennet, Cullen had the kindness to buy the lie. “Of course, my lord. That is all that’s needed for now, I’m sure you have other matters to attend to.” Cullen eyed the pile of reports that he still needed the Inquisitor to look  at and decided it could wait at least until the man didn’t look about to faint. “And, my friend, before you leave, would you mind?” He signalled to a whisky bottle nearby and poured the inquisitor a glass without waiting for a reply. “Best Ferelden whisky. Good thing after a round of … nasty problems.” He offered with a smile that showed how the Commander knew what was like to have to keep going even if your body didn’t want to.  
  
The inquisitor nodded and emptied the cup in one gulp, welcoming the burning sensation that send at least a bit of the pain away. “Thanks, Cullen. Nothing better than Ferelden liquid hell to keep a man on his feet.” He clasped the other man on the shoulder and left him to his duties. On his way down, he made yet another mental note of writing a speech and being less vague on his reports while briefly wondering where to get one of those clipboards Josie used because he couldn’t possibly remember all that people needed him to. Which reminded him he needed to speak to Josephine.  
  
Before Trevelyan realized it was already evening, his day lost between people needing him, people wanting him and people shoving a problem in his hands simply because he was the Inquisitor and, apparently, it was his job to find someone’s lost wedding ring. His body was on the verge of failing all day and the closest he got of a rest was the fifteen-minute break he took for lunch, which turned into a meeting with the Chargers and left him just as tired as he started, but now he simply couldn’t take it anymore. His armour hurt in the places it was mossed and digging into his skin, his bones hurt like he was beaten to the pulp by an angry giant - not far from the truth-, his wounds stung and burned and the smell of blood was starting to sicken him. The Inquisitor needed a break from the title, so he avoided the dining hall and made a beeline for his chambers since his body lacked the strength to eat anyway.  
  
Once inside his room, he finally let himself feel the weight of his body. Pain showered him from places he couldn’t even remember existed and he felt like dropping to the ground and waking up a week later, but he didn’t have a week and his armour was digging and hurting in so many places that if he slept with that on he would wake up worse than now. He started to unhook and unstrap as fast as his trembling hands could, letting the golden pieces clatter on the floor, adding dents to the metal already matted with blood and dirt, looking nothing the golden wonder Dagna forged him two weeks ago. She would kill him for that, but he couldn’t care less as he tugged one last gauntlet and dropped it with something between a groan and a sigh of relief. He walked to the bathroom and finally eyed himself in the mirror. “I do look half dead.”  Trevelyan mumbled to no one as he removed the linen shirt, wet and disgusting with gore from all origins and sticking to his wounds in a way that made stripping a painful task.

He needed a bath and a shaving but couldn’t find enough strength to any of it so a quick scrub, just to remove the stink of battle and all the dried blood -his and unknown- would have to do. Nevertheless, even a quick scrub took so long that he almost passed out twice, but at least the water running down his body wasn’t brown anymore and that was as far as he would go. He dragged himself from the bathroom, planning on putting on some clothes and at least kicking all the armour pieces on one corner; but before he could help, his body was hitting against the mattress and sleep engulfed him in silk sheets and exotic scent around him, something that whispered Tevinter on his mind.  
  
His sleep was dreamless and he could have carried on with it for hours, but obviously it wouldn’t happen. He had been asleep for just a few hours before the loud thud of the wooden door hitting the wall woke him up and a wave of perfume and magic came swooshing in. Trevelyan sighed with acceptance and prepared himself to get an earful, even if he couldn’t muster enough strength to get up yet.  
  
“So, _amatus_ ,” The endearing word was covered in poison as a sharp voice echoed the room “You have enough time to drag that barbaric golden platted carcass of yours around Skyhold all day, but stopping to say hello is too much of a nuisance?!” Dorian wasn’t a big man, but, when he wanted, his presence took the whole place; and now he wanted his anger and outrage to be heard and felt in all ways. That being the exact reason he wasn’t controlling the magic energy flickering around him and making static fill the room. “You even had time to hear Dennet complain about your nasty lizards munching on some ponies, but not even a word to me?”  
  
“I planned to…” A hoarse and small voice came from the crumpled sheets, more a murmur than anything actually, since Trevelyan knew nothing would placate the mage’s wrath. When Dorian is angry, you let him yell and deal with it after.  
  
“Oh! You planned to! How preposterous of me not to realise you planned to!” Dorian saw how each one of his sharp words made the other man wince but now he couldn’t care less, he was feeling betrayed and his anger needed a target.  “Well then I-” A loud clang of metal was followed by a torrent of nasty Tevene curses, meaning Dorian tripped on one of the many scattered pieces of armour, which only fueled his rage. “What is your utter problem on keeping the minimum amount of order?!” Electricity pulsed from his fingertips as he gathered the pieces on his arms, his face twisting in disgust as he saw the state of the metal and the blood and dirt that stained the beautiful carpet.  “And you should clean this thing; it is filthy and shouldn’t even be in the castle, worse in your room! I sleep here you know?! You warriors are barbaric. Barbaric!” He topped his complaints with a disgusted noise that would make Cassandra proud.

The inquisitor finally mustered enough strength to move and slowly sat up, the cocoon of sheets he gathered around in his sleep revealing him at last. “Look, I’m sorry Dorian I just couldn’t- Oh fuck.” he hissed in pain when a wrong movement brought one of his many pains back. “ I wanted to see you, damn. I needed to, but I had-“

  
“Oh, don’t try your sweet voice babble with me. It won’t work this time.” The mage finally looked at the man pitifuly sitting among the mess of sheets and pillows, looking battered and sad. It only took him a moment to process the scene and drop the armour on his arms, metal clattering loudly around the floor as his anger disappeared so fast one could doubt it was there in the first place. “Oh, my love, my idiotic and imbecile Inquisitor.” And just like that honey replaced poison as he eyed the countless wounds spreading on the Inquisitor’s body; maps of purple and yellow, deep gashes that still oozed blood when the man moved  -a bit of guilt for making him get up so quickly- and just the look of defeat in those cursed beautiful eyes looking up at him.  “You were running around all day looking like that, you stupid fool?” It was still a reprimand, but soft as a loving whisper as the mage reached careful hands towards him.  
  
“They needed me.” Trevelyan answered simply, leaning into the warm fingers with a smile as the air around him got lighter; Dorian’s magic was no longer angry and fiery and now it had the soothing feeling Trevelyan needed so much.  “And it is not as bad as it- Ouch, Dorian!”  He whimpered as a thumb pressed on a wound on his shoulder, lips pursing on a pout.  
  
“Lie to me again and I will poke it with fire.” His fingers were gentle again as he moved the man’s head, eyeing the damage.  “Why the blasted abominations always aim your face? I’m sure it’s some evil plot of Corypheus because he looks like a mix between a donkey’s arse and a mouldy raisin.” He sighed deeply and fished for a health poultice on his pocket, shoving the uncapped vial on the Inquisitor’s hands. “Drink this.”

 Trevelyan took the potion and breathed more easily as it reached some of his pain. “That means you think I’m handsome?” He asked with a grin, one reserved for his moments with the mage, when he was able to be himself, not The Inquisitor, not The Herald. Just his tired self and the man he loved.  
  
“For the Maker’s light, amatus, don’t start.” Dorian swatted him lightly and moved around the room gathering some supplies: a silver bowl, clean rags and some herbs he kept in there  -he spent so much time up there it was more than logical to him to keep some of his things in the room- and some massage oil. That for if he finished in a good mood and felt that Trevelyan deserved a little treat. “ Now, be a dear and sit still while I try to undo some of the damage you could have avoided if you came to me in the first place instead of being a chantry sister and helping every poor soul here that is too lazy to fix their own problems.”  He continued his stream of complaints while working carefully on the wounds, the same fingers that brought death upon enemies now touching lightly in fear of hurting the other. “It would hurt if they solved their own lives for once? You don’t have to cater for them all day!”

“Dorian, don’t talk like that.”  Trevelyan scolded lightly, eyes pressing as the herbs stung, it was a good sign, meaning they worked but it didn’t stop his body from trying to move away from more pain. “I chose this position, ok? I have to be true to it even if it means neglecting my own need and wants once in a while.” It was tiring, deadly and sometimes he wished that blighted mark never came to him, but it did and now he had to do what he needed to.  
  
Dorian pushed the rag into the bowl with a little more force than needed. “No, you did not! Can’t you see the exact problem? Some weird accident shoved this mark on your hand and the whole world expects you to just deal with it even if it means you **die**!” The last word came harsh and Dorian could feel the anger returning in form of sparks on his fingers; he forced himself to calm down or else he would zap that stupid man in front of him. “ You don’t have to fix the world alone; and you can say whatever you want about being ready to die for it, I’m not ready to let you die even if it means burning all those leeches to ashes to keep them from throwing you to the fire like some damn sacrifice.” He tried to bandage the wounds as gentle as his emotions allowed him, not that the fool in front of him would complain if it hurt.

  
Trevelyan sighed and weighted his words for a moment. “Love, if I could I would choose a peaceful life with you over all this anytime. But I can’t.” He reached a hand to caress Dorian’s face, the skin smooth and soft under his calloused fingers. “That doesn’t mean I’m leaving you, ok? I know I can handle this. I’m strong, even if you don’t think so.” He flashed a gentle smile and leaned forward to press a light kiss on the mage’s lips. “And I would return from death itself to be with you.” He breathed those words into another kiss and let it linger.  
  
 Dorian squeezed the hand on his face, the other reaching to cup Trevelyan’s neck, pulling their foreheads together. “You better return or I’ll come after you and you know how I am when I'm mad. “ He stood there for a moment; just thanking whatever entity brought the Inquisitor safe to him every time. “Which reminds me, I’m still angry.” He bit down on the lip brushing on his, a tongue grazing the spot as an apology soon after. “Or do I need to remind you? “ He murmured in a hot breath before pulling away and occupying his hands with the wet cloth again. “Now sit still.” He could not help a side smile at the Inquisitor’s offended expression.  
  
“Don’t do that if you don’t intend to continue, vint.”  Trevelyan growled and licked slowly on his lips, eyes locked on Dorian’s. His pain seemed to give place to some other more urgent sensations as the mage’s fingers ran over his skin, rubbing the soothing herbs; and Trevelyan was damn sure he didn’t have bruises so close to his navel that needed so much attention from the mage’s hands.  
  
Dorian dragged the cloth slowly across the Inquisitor’s waistline. “Oh? I thought you were too tired to see me.” A sly smile slowly crossed the mage’s lips as he brushed the pad of his fingers one last time on the Inquisitor’s skin, just inches away from his groin, before cleaning the herbs that lingered on his hands. “ I will let you rest, my dear barbarian.” Maybe Dorian had not forgiven him after all. The mage finished the last bandage and offered him a shining smile and a peck on the lips before standing up, hands ‘accidentally’ brushing on an uncovered thigh on his way.  “Rest well amatus”

The mage didn’t even have time to finish his little show before his arm was grabbed with surprising strength for a man that was passed out minutes ago.  “Don’t you fucking dare, Dorian.” Trevelyan hissed, all the need he felt those two weeks returning with full force and shoving the pain away. Maybe he didn’t need rest after all. Dorian certainly had a witty response but it was all lost when the Inquisitor stood up, the sheet sliding to the floor and revealing the man in all his naked glory. The mage’s eyes went dark with the sight, tongue coming out to wet his lips unconsciously, which brought a smug smile to Trevelyan’s lips. “Not too much to complain about the bruises, I see?” He cocked his head and bit down on his lower lip in an invitation that Dorian was all too quick to accept, the façade of disinterest dropping as their bodies met, Dorian’s fingers touching every patch of skin they could reach while their lips locked in a kiss that tasted faintly like blood.  
  
Their kiss didn’t start slow and build heat as was their usual, no, it was wild and lustful from the beginning, with tongue and teeth and lewd wet sounds that filled the room. Hands scratching and pressing on skin that heated with arousal, mouths searching for room to mark and taste before they were pulled to each other’s lips again, tongues sliding together and dragging sinful sounds from both men.  
  
Trevelyan’s hands tugged impatiently on the mage’s complicated robes, pulling at fabric and metal until he could shove it out of the way and bring his lips down to Dorian’s collarbone, tasting the sweetness that seemed to cover the mage no matter the situation. His bit  hard enough to mark as the Dorian’s fingers caressed the muscles on his back, careful not to hurt even if drowning in lust, skilled fingers touching the taut muscle shaped by the years under sword training and making Trevelyan shudder and press harder against the mage. The Inquisitor’s hands worked on the rest of the knots and buttons and he mentally cursed the stupid Tevinter fashion as one button popped and clattered on the floor, much to the mage’s outrage. He made Dorian swallow the complaint that was already rising with a kiss that only parted long enough for the mage’s clothes to be on the floor before their lips were crashing against each other’s again. Now was the turn for the Inquisitor’s hands to roam without clothes in their way, to map the muscles that no mage should have, the perfect body that he could touch his whole life and never be tired of it. Trevelyan groaned into Dorian’s mouth as their bodies finally met without barriers, skin against skin in friction and heat that was more than enough to make him hard and wanting. “Before you say anything, I don’t give a flying fuck about my wounds.” He barely spit out the words, a hand reaching between them to find Dorian just as hard as him; breath heaving on the mage’s mouth as Trevelyan hands worked on him, rough palms in slow and long movements. The Inquisitor leaned closer, his mouth brushing on Dorian’s ear as a tongue flickered over the mage’s earlobe. “Do I need to be _clearer_?”

He could spend forever on that game of foreplay if they had enough time, but that was Skyhold and Dorian could bet ten sovereigns that someone would need the inquisitor within the hour so he lost no time in leading the man to the bed, careful to the Inquisitor’s wounds despite the very convincing claims he just heard. His own desire was to shove Trevelyan on the floor and fuck him senseless, so,  the mage wasted no time in moving atop the other man, mouth coming down to kiss at the scars on the Inquisitor’s face, lips caressing every mark that once brought pain to the man. Dorian felt something in his chest tighten with the thought, but he pushed it away quickly when the Inquisitor moved under him, hips rising to meet him and drag a moan out of his throat. “Someone is eager, amatus.”  The mage all but purred the words as he pushed the other down with one hand, the other reaching to the nightstand only to come back coated in oil, the scent filling the air around them. The mage leaned down to take the Inquisitor’s lips again, teeth nibbling quickly on his bottom lip before deepening the kiss as his hand slid between the Trevelyan’s buttocks and started to loosen him. Dorian loved the sounds and expressions he would get from Trevelyan while his fingers worked, moving and sliding as the other man squirmed under him. Dorian dragged the moment for much longer than needed, just a slow rhythm, fingers sliding and searching for that little spot that made the Inquisitor moan so beautifully; he worked his hands until Trevelyan was murmuring nonsense, face flushed and hands gripping on the silk sheets, almost begging. Almost. “Now now, amatus. Should I stop? Maybe it’s too much for your wounds…” He teased with sweetness in his voice, his free hand reaching for Trevelyan’s cock, thumb dragging along the tip as the other let out a muffled moan. “Yes? No? Come on, love, I need you to say something.” He brought the thumb to his lips and sucked slowly on it, eyes locked on the man beneath him.

The sight brought a deep moan to Trevelyan throat and he had to struggle to make out real words. “Just fuck me already. “  The phrase came more in a growl actually, Trevelyan’s body burning with need as Dorian’s hands moved inside him, the pleasure making his fingertips tingle and the arousal pushing what was left of any memory of pain away.  A hand wrapped around his cock, hot and soft and he arched his hips into the touch and down again, trying to sink deeper into those fingers that did little to really fill him. “Dorian, come on.”  He hissed between gritted teeth as the mage stared down at him with a smirk, those golden eyes shining and teasing him as the mage moved his hand so slightly, enough to brush against that spot that made him see white and lose control of his voice.  His whole body wanted it, needed it. The Inquisitor wet his lips in a slow and lewd way, his voice hoarse and heavy. “Please.”  The word came coated in velvet as he moved into Dorian’s hand, his own hand reaching to rub on the mage’s nipple before raking down his chest.  
  
How the man could put such sin in a simple word is something Dorian would never know but the plea was more than enough for him to pull out his fingers and move between the Inquisitor’s legs,. “ With you asking so kindly, who am I to deny?” He licked and sucked on the Inquisitor’s earlobe, his cock teasing the man’s entrance for a moment just for the pleasure of seeing the flare of impatience in Trevelyan’s eyes and have those rough hands try to pull him in.  “Hush, I’m just teasing.”  He held on the man’s hips and pushed in a single movement, a hoarse groan coming out his mouth as the warmth engulfed him; no matter how many times they did this, Dorian would always have that blissful moment where everything was better than he could expect.  
  
They moved together, first in slow and controlled movements, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. It only lasted until primal need took over and soon it turned into erratic thrusts with Dorian’s hands griping on Trevelyan’s hips so tight it would certainly bruise and the Inquisitor’s hands leaving red gashes on the mage’s arms. Trevelyan was on the verge of reason, there was nothing in the world but the man inside him, thrusting, touching, and drowning him in pleasure as his whole body seemed to let go of control. His voice came out in heavy and senseless sounds and he couldn’t care less about who was hearing them. Trevelyan reached a hand between them, pumping on his own cock in time with their thrusts, only to have his hands pushed away and replaced by the mage’s, making him throw his head back with a moan of Dorian’s name.  
  
Dorian almost lost it when the man moaned his name, seeing the mighty Inquisitor in such a state under him was enough to bring the mage to the edge, but he didn’t want it to end, not yet. He sped up his thrusts, lips dragging on Trevelyan’s mouth, chin and neck as his hand worked in time with his hips. “Promise you will always come back to me.”  He murmured the words against the Inquisitor’s shoulder and thought they would go unnoticed, lost into pleasure and those silly things people say during sex, but a strong hand came to his nape and pulled him into a kiss, filled with an emotion that was more than any words could muster. Their sounds filled the room; flesh against flesh, their moans and murmurs of each other’s names like a mantra as they both went over the edge, lips still locked in a kiss that tasted like a promise as their climax came. When it was over and they could think again, Dorian pressed their lips in a clumsy kiss before pulling out and collapsing by the Inquisitor’s side, shudders of pleasure still running over his body. “I hope that makes clear that I come before those peasants in the courtyard.”

 Trevelyan laughed, again a tired laugh but this time also full of bliss. “Yes, love, I promise to go straight to you every time I arrive covered in blood and dirt, and rub my barbaric self on you.” Dorian let out a noise of protest and he laughed again. “Hey, you asked for it.”  
  
 “Let me be more clear then, you mongrel, you come straight to the bedroom, take a shower, dress yourself in your best clothes and then go to me so I can rip them off you.” Dorian smiled and pulled the other man close, fingers idly fiddling with messed and slightly damp hair. “Now get some sleep, you deserved it.”

 Trevelyan pushed himself closer to mage, burying his face on the man’s neck and inhaling the scent. “I promise.” The arm around him tightened and he knew Dorian understood what he was promising; the words left unsaid between them like many others. He pressed a kiss on the mage’s chin and draped an arm over him. “Will you stay, please?” His voice came sleepy and he wasn’t sure it was even heard, but before he could ask again, his eyes were already closing and a peaceful sleep took over.  
  
Dorian sighed with a loving smile and pulled the covers over them, a hand carefully ghosting over Trevelyan’s back and nape as the even breath of the man caressed his skin. “Yes, amatus, I will stay.” He pressed a kiss on the disheveled hair and realized what he meant. He would stay; he would change all his plans for the man on his arms. “For you, my foolish hero, I will even believe in forever.” He fell asleep with the weight of the Inquisitor on his chest, but his heart felt lighter than it ever was.

**Author's Note:**

> This work goes with a special thanks for two people, for my dear real life Dorian and for Elidoo whose fic gave the inspiration to write again and kind words gave the courage to post here :)


End file.
